I've been worried about you
by ginaromano2012
Summary: Post RF, Jess tries to take care of Sherlock, but ends up needing taken care of.


I gasped and awoke as I felt a pair of familiar warm arms surround me from behind. I rolled over, switching on the bedside light, and saw him. I gasped and whispered his name, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him as close to me as I could, ignoring the fact that he was beat up looking. Tears started prickling my eyes as he slowly, in a hesitating fashion, wrapped his arms around me, burying his hand in my hair, as of he was unused to the physical contact. It killed me inside. "Are you okay? I've been so worried about you!" I said pulling away and sitting up, looking him up and down. Sherlock had bruises all over his body, a gash on his head, a bloody lip, and what appeared to be a wound under his shirt, judging by the blood staining the button up. I gasped and turned on the overhead light, running for the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.

When I came back in, he was sprawled on the bed, his eyes closed. I noted that he was still breathing and relaxed slightly. I took that time to assess the damage. Seeing his face, which was obviously tense (most likely in pain), I realized just how much I had missed him over the past two months. The last time he showed up he wasn't in as bad of condition. I walked over to the bed, sitting next to Sherlock. He didnt even acknowledge me, keeping his eyes shut. I smiled, a soft sad smile, at the beautiful, but dirty, man lying on my clean bedspread. I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed him on the cheek, earning a slight smile from him.

"I missed you so much." I whispered softly, trying to communicate the emotions I was feeling and opening the first aid kit. Sherlock opened his eyes and watched me, the pain evident on his face. His jaw was tightly clenched as I got a wet cloth out and began to wipe the blood off his cheekbones. I wiped the cut on his temple off and looked at how deep it was. Deciding that a few butterfly bandages would do just fine, I moved onto wiping his lip off, memories of kissing those very lips feverishly flooded my mind. My eyes started filling with tears at the amount of blood on him, knowing it couldn't be all his. I knew this man and I knew he wouldn't have hurt anyone he didnt absolutely have to. He might not me the most sympathetic human, but he didnt condone hurting people.

Sherlock opened his eyes again, a dull, ache, evident in them. He was torn, I could tell. "What did you do to get these wounds?" I asked, softly. I didn't want to upset him, but I felt like I needed to know. To console him, if need be. He blinked at me, his expression unreadable, all traces of pain gone. He was masking his emotions. In front of me. I knew he had been mentally tortured, while away from his loved ones and hunting down those who wanted us dead, but I assumed things between us wouldn't change. That he would always be frank with me. "I only have two of his men left." I suddenly heard the deep baritone rumble ever so softly, as he looked down at his bloody hands. I sighed and grabbed one of them, wiping it off with a washcloth I had dipped in warm water. It killed me to see him in so much pain. It hurt even worse to know that he would leave again in a few days. That I couldn't help the man I loved.

When both hands were clean, I started unbuttoning his shirt, so I could see the worst wound of them all. I grimaced as I peeled the once white fabric off of his bloody flesh, it sticking. I looked up at his face, to judge how much this was going to hurt him. His face betrayed nothing of how he felt, so I gingerly wiped at the wound. His whole torso was soaked with blood and it appeared to go down under his waistband. I frowned at how deep the gash was- it atleast went down to the muscle layer. It appeared to be from a knife and it was about five inches long, starting at the bottom of his rib cage and wrapping towards his belly button.

"How did this happen, Sherlock?" I asked tenderly. He opened his eyes again, though they were slightly unfocused from either blood loss or pain. "Knife." He said, his jaw clenching and a hiss of pain coming out when I poured alcohol into the cut. "I am so sorry. It needs cleaned, though. You're lucky it didn't go any deeper." I said, then added, "Im lucky." And looked down at my hands, eyes filling with tears again. I was so scared I was going to lose him, that one of Moriarty's men would kill him and I wouldn't be the wiser. I would sit at home, expecting him to return one day... And when he didnt, I would think he forgot me.

I sniffled, a tear sliding down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, pivoting to grab the first aid kit. I placed it on my lap and began rummaging through it, trying to find salve and bandages. The bleeding had stopped a while ago, so I quickly wrapped him up. When I was done I closed everything up and got off the bed. Sherlock had not moved for atleast twenty minutes and I assumed he was asleep. I went into the bathroom that was connected to my bedroom and washed my hands, returning to my room, flipping off the overhead light.

I crawled into bed, next to the sleeping form of my love and layed down facing him. His face had finally relaxed into the childlike features I had grown to love so dearly. I was so relieved to see that he wasnt completely hatdened to his old self. He opened one eye, surprising me. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were asleep. Are you hungry?" I asked, as Sherlock sat up. We were so close, so much closer than we had been in months. I was dying to kiss him, to let him know that everything would be alright, but I couldn't bring myself to make the first move. He scooted closer to me, taking my small, delicate hand in his own larger, rougher one.

I looked up at him, to see a small smile on his lips. He leaned closer, looking into my eyes. I shivered at the intensity in his blue-green ones, emotions flooding them in waves. I closed my eyes and felt his soft lips brush my own. I reacted instantly. It was as if someone had broken the dam of emotions inside of me. Within a second I was in his lap, kissing him like my life depended on it, while tears poured down my cheeks. Sherlock moaned and pulled me closer, returning the kiss with just as much fervor and digging his fingers into my waist. He pulled away after a few minutes and leaned his forehead against my own, brushing his hand on my bare shoulder. "Your sleeve fell down." He stated the obvious, a smile spreading across his features. I have him a soft smile in return, the tears finally stopping. "And you are shirtless. Your point?" I asked, pecking him on the lips again, wanting to do alot more than just peck them.

His face turned serious as he pulled me against his warm chest, frowning slightly at the pain the exertion has caused him. I placed my hands on his bare, pale skin, smoothing my thumb out over his collar bone. "Jessie..." He started, earning a surprised look on my part. He had never called me 'Jessie' before. We once had a conversation where he had said that he thought nicknames and or pet names were stupid and mundane. "Jessie, I love you so much. I am so sorry you have had to go through this with me, but I do not think I could do it without you. For you to think I am dead... To not believe me... It would be too much for me to handle. For you to think I had willingly left you..." Sherlock trailed off, his eyes glistening slightly, as if the thought was too much too painful.

"I regret nothing, love. I would go through the pain of this a hundred times over, just to be able to kiss you again." I said, smiling at the sweet, soft side of Sherlock that very few people got to see. I wasn't even entirely sure that John had seen the extent of it. Sherlock looked at my lips, as if gauging how much pain kissing me would cause him, before diving right it. I let out a moan of surprise before wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling myself as close to him as I could manage.

Sherlock grabbed my hips, dragging me on top of him as he layed back. I happily obliged, careful not to put any weight on his wounds. Sherlock smiled against my lips and ran his fingers along my spine, earning a shiver. It had been too long since I had last kissed him, I had missed his warm lips, his embrace... All of it. A tear slipped down my cheek as I realized he would have to leave me again. And very soon at that. Sherlock pulled away, concern written all over his usually emotionless face.

"Jess?" He asked, his hand against my cheek. He swept his thumb against my cheekbone, wiping the tear away. I looked down, mad that I had ruined our kiss and had caused him to be concerned over me. If he should be concerned over anyone it should be himself! "Jess... Jessie, are you okay?" He asked me quietly. I nodded, the tears coming faster and heavier now. "What's wrong, love?" The pet name had be choked up even worse. I was going to lose him. Lose this all , never hear his voice again...I couldn't bare the thought. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, trying to hold back the tears.

The stress of worrying about him night and day was taking its toll, worse than I had expected. "Jessica, talk to me." His deep, velvety voice rumbled against my hands, which were placed on his chest. I gulped back the tears, wiping them away with my hands, causing my off-the-shoulder shirt to fall down even lower. "You're going to leave again. I know you have to... But..." My sobs cut me off again as I realized I could wake up tomorrow to an empty bed. To never really get to say goodbye. Sherlocks face was blank again, his eyebrows stitched together, though. I couldn't read what he was thinking. His hands were rubbing circles on my back, which did cause me to relax.

"Go on." He commanded softly. I swallowed, biting my lip softly. "I hate that I could wake up and you could be gone. I love you, dammit, and I can't stand not knowing. I just want this to be over, for you to hold me and kiss me every night. I hate that you could leave me at anytime and that I won't see you again for another two months if ever!" I ranted, ashamed of myself when I saw the deeply hurt look on the man I loves' face. I couldn't figure out what I had said that would hurt him, but it clearly did. Sherlock cleared his throat and licked his lip, causing a desire to attack him and kiss him all over again to arise. I mentally berated myself over such thoughts when I was feeling this way.

"Jessica... You think I would leave you if I did not absolutely have to? If I could, if this was an ideal world, I would hold you and love you none stop. I would have you begging me to stop." He said sternly, his cold blue eyes staring into my warm hazel ones. I blushed at his statement, knowing he probably didnt mean it how I thought of it, but need rising in my chest anyway. My tears dried up as I realized this, it didnt stop the pain of not having him for months on end, but I did understand why he did it. He did it to keep us safe.

"I'm sorry..." I said, ducking my head. I felt his fingers brush my chin, guiding my face back to his. "Do not apologize, Jess. Never apologize for telling me how you feel. Because, whereas I can read people, I can not read emotions. I love you, though. Never forget that. I never thought I could love someone in the way I love you, this is all foreign to me. I honestly never wanted to love. I found it to be a disadvantage...but, I realized... What is there to life if not love? Sure, there is learning... But, without you... Without John or Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, or even Mycroft... Without the people I love and depend on... What would my life mean?" Sherlock said, his cheeks heating up slightly.

I smiled a little, the tension leaving my body. I leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. I looked into his eyes and grabbed his wrist, grinning. Maybe not now, but I knew how he felt. I kissed him again and again. Only stopping for breath, which he seemed all too ready to recuperate. I couldn't tell him exactly how I felt, so I was trying to communicate in this fashion. He pulled away and hugged me to his laying form, stroking my hair and burying his nose in it. I smiled, if I would've been told that I would be hiding a dead Sherlock (who was snogging me like there was no tomorrow, I might add) in my flat a couple of years ago, I would've scoffed in your face. Now look at me, snuggled up to my sociopath in bed, humming my contentment as we both drifted off to sleep, right after having a mental breakdown over said sociopath. Tonight's dangers were over, we were safe together in each others arms. Sure, tomorrow brought a whole new pallet of problems, but for tonight I chose to ignore them and focus on what really mattered. Him.


End file.
